


In the Glory of Battle

by transtwinyards



Category: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtwinyards/pseuds/transtwinyards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the battle between two opposing sides, an ally comes to help the Romans. Said ally can't help but attract attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Glory of Battle

**Author's Note:**

> My poor attempt at a weird prose.  
> This was actually scribbled down on a piece of paper before being transferred and edited on a notebook and then to MS Word. Such is the process.  
> My entry from this week's weeklypjoprompt, 'fairy tales'.

He jumped, dodged, and swung; a flurry of swords, along with his own, slashing and hacking at enemy soldiers as the opponents did so to them.

He was fighting like a demon, as his partner had told him before he reminded himself. But that was only partially true, as he moved along with his injuries and cuts, all over his face and legs and his elbows. This was not enough to stop him from moving from one enemy to another.

His will to end the fighting and the death was vanquished by his focus and adrenaline. Such was inappropriate for a general, as he should be thinking of ways to end it with minimal conflict. Such was inappropriate for his down-to-Earth attitude at home, the one that his dearest sister had loved. But it wasn’t as inappropriate for any normal Roman soldier.

Honestly, _fuck_ everyone at home. He was in his element.

The thrill of the fight, the shouting of wounded and charging men; bodies dropping on the muddy, bloody ground and the metals clashing as men parried with swords and spears and shields. All of this made blood rush to his ears, made him grin a mad, _mad_ grin.

All of this did not distract him. In fact, it enhanced his senses as he slashed and hacked and stabbed through enemies.

It wasn’t until _he_ arrived that Jason’s focus waver. He wore a black cloak over his shoulders, a loose brown tunic, looser pants held up by a chain, and boots. With the way he brought himself, swinging his curved sword, black as the forest at night, it was like his cloak was purple. He was like royalty.

The notion did not end there, it came with the way the crowds parted for him, and the way the earth shook, cracked, and opened behind his confident strides. He twirled his dark sword around, a smile forming on his face. The whole battle paused to shudder as the temperature dropped significantly.

Jason knew from the way his knees buckled, the way his sweat dripped from his nose to his hand and felt warmer. He knew from the way puddles of blood seeped down to into the cracks in the earth that had opened up behind the man clad in dark garments.

He found it odd, later on, that he did not know of this because of the shudder that went through his body. _Knew_ it wasn’t because of this. It was because of the presence of the man.

Jason felt his body being pulled toward the shadows that formed and swirled around the man like the waters of the beach lapping up the blood that had seeped into the shore; like grape vines growing in Bacchus’ wake. The shadows solidified and formed into the cracks behind him.

In a blink, the battle went on like before. Jason had to dodge an arrow that flew overhead, decapitating a man who had almost done him to him.

The battle raged and this time, the dead contributed to the fighting. No one found it odd, not even Jason’s own troops.

He realized, almost too late, that the dead warriors were at his side of the battle. He drew a breath of relief at this fact. Not at the fact that he did not need to fight against the dead, not even that disrespectful fact, no. But at the fact that he did not need to fight against the man who had summoned the dead.

And at the fact that during down time, Jason would know what the name of such a mighty, powerful warrior would be.

He silently gave a praise to Mars and Victoria for his luck and victory.

* * *

 

As soon as down time began, Jason jogged for the tent for an impromptu meeting. Reyna, his partner, had already been there, clad in her usual armor and cloak, much like his. Only, well, cleaner.

He had sent a messenger to their ally, a meeting must be adjourned immediately to settle what the ally had wanted. It was routine and normal.

“How was the battle today, praetor?” asked Reyna from her seat overlooking the map of their battlefield. Jason noted that this complimented her namesake, much like a queen. An Amazon queen much like her own sister.

“It was fair. The new ally was fantastic. I find that we must form bonds with him immediately,” Jason stated, taking a grape from the bowl that Reyna kept near her, and popping it into his mouth.

Torch light washed onto the table, from outside the tent. Jason looked to the opening to see their ally, barely bloodied or bruised from the battle, still emanating the same regal stature and motion of a leader. Jason felt his breath quicken.

“Form bonds immediately,” the man said, mostly to himself. His foreign accent did not butcher the words. Jason noted the tone of his voice, the near paleness of his face did not look sickly but unnatural, like his skin should be a healthy olive, the bags under his eyes, the faint hollowing of his cheeks, and the length of his hair, that reached his shoulders. Someone from the North, Jason noted. “I would say that you should be cautious of who you should trust, praetors.”

Reyna, ever-so level-headed, stood to bow to the man, a gesture that the man returned. “I am Reyna, a praetor and general.”

Jason stood to mimic the gesture, rather stiffly he noted. “I am Jason, also a praetor and general.”

A smirk tugged at the man’s face, Jason tightened his jaw as to not have it hang open. “I have heard, praetor Jason, of your status. Your prowess in the field today was admirable.”

Jason felt his face heat up at the compliment and nodded his gratitude. “I appreciate that sentiment however, you did far better than I.”

The man smiled, and Jason found that he liked that. “I am Nico and I come from the North to help you in your battles.”

Reyna nodded. “And what great help you were, Nico.”

 Then, he nodded and turned back to Reyna. “Please. Niceties aside, praetors.”

Reyna gestured for the seats. They all sat down and talked politics and goals.

Nico was here from the South, on a quest. This surprised both praetors, as his clothing and color did not correspond to where they had thought he had been from. He had been to an oracle far up North and had been told to help in their army’s battle in exchange for great honor and experience. Both in combat and in his abilities in magic, medicine, and necromancy.

This, Jason had understood. On each day, plenty a Roman boy had been sent to military training for not only skills, but also discipline and life experience. His sister, Thalia was also an exceptional archer who mixed magic in with her combat skills.

The meeting was cut short by Reyna, as both Jason and Nico needed rest for the coming battle tomorrow. During the battle, she had received a letter from the opposing army that reinforcements shall be sent to the other army, with more arms and soldiers.  That meant more men to kill and more land to conquer in the morning.

Once out of the tent, Jason shivered in the cold late night air. The camp grounds have grown silent save for the distant sound of the sea, the crackling of the torches, and particularly loud snoring from the soldiers.

Some men were still out for drinks and stories and merriment. Sadly, Jason could not indulge in that kind of activity with tomorrow’s events. Even more so, he could not ask Nico out for a few drinks.

“I wish you luck on tomorrow’s events, praetor,” Nico said in lieu of a goodbye. Jason whipped his head to the shorter man’s direction.

“Where shall your quarters be?” Jason asked, hoping to the gods that it hadn’t sounded intrusive.

Nico gave him a look, undecipherable to the praetor. “A soldier of yours has appointed me a bunk already, Jason.”

Jason chuckled, affectionate and sheepish. “I take it that it was Frank who gave you the top bunk?”

Nico nodded. There were a few moments of silence as they stood there.

“May Victoria bless us all tomorrow, then,” Jason said. Nico raised his eyebrow at the phrase.

“Is that your way of wishing me luck?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Then, may she bless you in particular, praetor,” and with that, Nico walked away.

“Good night, then,” Jason said, as if to himself. Within a few moments, he began his trek back to his own tent, the biggest grin on his face.


End file.
